Logs:Hearth and Home
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| RL Date: 16 November, 2012 |
| Who: K'del, Tajent |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tajent takes K'del weyr-hunting. They meet success. |
| Where: K'del's (new!) Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 4, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Iolene/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: <3 to Tajent for weyr-ness. Though it needs a pretty name... any ideas? |
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| So K'del wants a new weyr? It's not as easy as it would have been, not long ago: something about specific instructions from one of the weyrwomen, he has to apply with everyone else, and so he's passed down and down the food chain until he gets to Taj. That, or Taj has talked himself up and up the food chain to meet K'del partway. So they spent a session with preliminaries, narrowing down likes and dislikes, and he had to come back after Taj narrowed things further. This time, though: this time K'del gets to actually look at places. The first few narrow things down even further, those issues that are so difficult to define: one seems great at first glance until the wind picks up and there's an odd howling sound, and not the good kind, either. Another belonged to someone K'del knew, once upon a time. Every now and again, for an instant, it's like the way it was when Cadejoth first flew a distinctly more jittery Taj here... which may make the changes all the keener. "Over there," the lad points out now, traveliing enough now that he has his own pair of goggles to squint through: glasses he'd shown K'del, earlier. It's a big broad ledge for a relatively short but rawboned bronze: large enough for a visitor, two if they're small. The overhang is wide and deep, set far enough back to cut the breeze. It's a start. It took K'del a little while to really get into the right frame of mind for all of this: at first, he was reluctant, of an any-weyr-will-do frame of mind, though it's obvious in retrospect that that would never have worked out. Once he did get into the whole process, it became pretty clear that after more than ten turns in very fine accommodation indeed, K'del has standards. Even so, he has a bemused comment repeated more than once throughout the process rather along the lines of, "It never used to be this complicated." K'del does seem mindful of that earlier trip, though he hasn't mentioned it - it's just something in his expression, which has turned bittersweet on occasion despite the fact that he's obviously rather enjoying getting to pick and choose, and discard based on the slightest flaw. Cadejoth? He's ecstatic, and even without explanation that must be obvious. "Looks better than that last one," is K'del's reply to Tajent's point, as Cadejoth carries them in low, coming to his usual almost-stumbling landing upon the ledge in the moments that follow. "Not one I've visited before. Good area, though. Neighbour-wise." Which got him, at least the first time, a very solemn explanation of how he was weyrling-rank then, wasn't he, and Taj tacked on the 'sir' that can be such a panacea to certain troubled souls in their times of need. After that? Nod-and-smile, at least when he doesn't have his hand to his back to brace against landings like those. Now: "Is it? I'm glad to hear it. We haven't had complaints, not to speak of, though usually it seems people handle these things very well on their own, I'm also glad to say." He does consult his notes once he's made it safely to earth, but perfunctorily, as though they're all but memorized. "This one is supposed to have a catchment of sorts, permitting a private bath most times of the Turn. It was lived in by a pair of riders, smaller dragons of course, but the wallows were joined to one side," and Taj has an easygoing voice, convenient for listening without always requiring hearing as one explores. There's so much to see: the view, always subtly different once one is actually up, and of course there will be the weyr within. There aren't decorations left over from the other couple, no wind chimes or plants, though there are hooks here and there where some might have been. Oh, and icicles, one particular spot off to the side: quite dramatic ones, considering the warm snaps they've had now and again. 'Sir' doesn't necessarily seem to do much for K'del, now, though: it's rather more reminder than panacea, for all that he's so careful in showing only smiles. "He's not much for landings, even now," admits the rider, but only once he's standing upon the ledge with a fond hand upon his rider's forelimb; he doesn't mind. No doubt his back is used to the jarring nature. Not that he stays there for long: there's no question that he's enjoying these explorations, given the way he runs his fingers over those hooks, and marvels at the icicles. "Private bath," he repeats, but it's hard to tell if that's more than just idle repetition since there's not a great deal of indication that he's really listening. "Good ledge," is his conclusion, which comes accompanied by his striding steps towards the weyr itself. "It's got potential, anyway." The thing about showing only smiles: Taj doesn't know to stop, and so it's sprinkled here and there, those little sir-reminders like snowflakes that melt before they can quite reach the ground. Of course... K'del is still a rider, and most would say he deserves such an appellation even now, like the one he carries within his name. In earlier days, an outgoing weyrleader might have had glows set into the rooms for him to walk into, perhaps even a fire lit on the hearth if the headwoman's assistants wanted to go that far, perhaps even the headwoman herself. Of course, a weyrleader leaving under unsavory circumstances might find him simply assigned to a dark, shabby pit of a thing, so perhaps K'del hasn't entirely lost his luck. As it is, the only glows they have are the ones they take in with them. Taj finds himself staying out on the ledge right at first, looking at Cadejoth looking around: maybe he sees the view of the living caverns and the feeding pens, just low enough to see, high enough not to smell. Maybe... but Taj has more work to do than indulge himself in flights of fancy, and so he trots inside, staying back at first. It is a large wallow, as promised, and if Taj doesn't notice the ridge between the two portions in the dim glowlight, it's not like he's a rider. He's more interested in double-checking the interior hooks to make certain they're secure, most of them passing muster, in murmuring about how the curtain can be changed out. It's shadowy in there, still, the high ceiling casting their voices back to them in this place that's otherwise empty of soft furnishings. "How many weyrs have you had?" asks Taj, his voice soft for the space. He can't know what happened to that other one, can he? There are other, dim reflections as one's eyes adjust, too: a short distance after they had passed the old curtain, on the wall that borders the walkway rather than the wallow, small circles appear to float within the darkness like miniature moons. At least K'del has had the forethought to bring in a glow of his own, which he holds up high, now, in order to get a better look at the caverns within. It's hard to know what, if anything, he expects for himself from now on, but aside from the afore-mentioned pickiness, he's been inclined towards the easygoing. Thankfully. "Have to get that smoothed out," is his remark on the state of the wallow, though he paces his way through it experimentally: Cadejoth does not seem inclined to abandon the ledge, though no doubt he's seeing the rest through his rider's eyes. He clambers back up onto the walkway, regarding the curtain without enthusiasm, but apparently rather more focused on what else lies ahead. It's by those circles he pauses, and it's not until then that he answers the question. "Three, and this new one to be four." Not necessarily this one - whichever one he decides on. "One when I graduated, then the Weyrleader's Weyr, then the one Azaylia's in," and no mention as to why, "and then the Weyrleader's weyr again. Too many moves." "Maybe this one will last you, whichever one you go with, anyway," Taj comments, slowed to jot notes on whatever it is that neeeds smoothing: he'll figure out that part later. "We have five more if you don't care for this." The circles are larger than a man's thumb and forefinger curving into an 'okay' sign, a high panel of them that's perhaps four times as long as K'del is tall... until it gives over to the darkness of solid stone and then stops, letting the wallow's wall curve around it and presumably into the inner weyr. Cadejoth could peek around, if he liked: it's a good-sized simple space, verging on echoing with the continued lack of furniture. No table, no chairs. No desk, though there's shelving within a niche perhaps large enough for one. No sofa, no rugs. There is a hearth, at least, reflective in a chipped sort of way with squares tiled on point, to one side of which is a dark opening that might be another niche, some sort of storage, though it's hard to tell from across or even halfway across the room. K'del's 'mm' could be assent. It could also be read as half-hearted and unsure, however; he's playing his cards close to his chest. His fingers reach out to trace those circles, more thoughtful than with actual, genuine curiosity-- he certainly abandons them quickly enough to follow that wall around into the inner weyr. "My first one... it was the first space I'd really had that was mine. Ours. It was--" He breaks off from that remark in order to wander through the room, examining shelves and walls, and generally being terribly thoughtful. Once he gets that far, the hearth is considered with an almost disapproving frown that is clearly aimed to those chip tiles - though he still hasn't announced this weyr as hopeless and abandoned it entirely. Which is... something. His glow is lifted to peer into this other niche, though as he's doing it he's asking, "They let you have a room of your own, Tajent? In your new position." It's probably the first personal thing he's asked. They're dusty circles, is what they are: they might prove to be even more luminous if they were polished again, given the trace of translucent, creamy white where his finger had been. Shells, finely cut shells, each one different... including the amber one down one corner, for some future occupant's discovery, that's cut out of the bottom of a beer bottle instead. Just now, they're easily left behind. "Not yet," Taj admits. "I'm still on probation, and it didn't seem right to ask," but at least he seems cheerful enough about it. "Is anyone in your first one?" Maybe he actually didn't check the files on that. Maybe he's just giving K'del room to talk. Or not talk, even if Taj was indeed heard at all: the niche is narrow but when K'del had spoken that way, the echoes changed, most bouncing back but not all. A smaller tunnel, as it turns out, narrow if still tall. It turns a corner and it opens too, and within that expansive room beyond there's the other side of the hearth. And small niches, set into two remaining walls, even if some of them are by the scrape-marks where a bed might go. And a larger niche, with a plugged basin above and a drain below. And... the moons again, this time glowing of their own accord, glowing green from Taj's basket on the other side. Tajent won't be able to see the sudden smug satisfaction on K'del's expression as he comes through that tunnel and into the room beyond - but it's there. He must have heard enough of what the young man said to be able to respond, too, though of course his response is muffled. "A bluerider named Z'yi had it at one point," he answers. "But he went to Igen." That was turns ago. It's entirely possible someone else has taken it since; who knows. He obviously hasn't kept up. His fingers run across the basin, and he turns back to glance at the light, and that glowing green: his nod, too, is invisible to Tajent, but his footsteps carry him back through the passage and into that main room once more. "Make sure you ask for one, soon as you're off probation. It's only fair." Perhaps it's whatever lets the air flow cleanly that lets them converse at all, however muffled. "Did he? I suppose people can go just anywhere, these days," and Taj might sound a trifle disdainful, yes. Who'd want to go to Igen, where you never get to freeze your feet off in snow? The headwoman's assistant has made it to the living area by now, is scoping the place out for all that there's not much to scope out, just yet. But before he gets too far, "I suppose I will, unless she bunks me with the girls," and Taj has an easy chuckle for that not-gonna-happen prospect. "Now! What do you think? Ready to see the next one? You don't have to decide today even, though I think I know a couple who'll want this if you don't go for it yourself, it won't clean up half bad." It takes less time than it might have done, earlier, for K'del to smirk amusedly at Tajent for his joke about the girls, and for the rest. His hand lifts back towards those chipped tiles at the hearth, now, and his gaze turns away: he's focusing off into the distance at something un-seen. There's no immediate answer, not even an acknowledgement of the question. Not until - at length - he turns back around again, and nods. "No, I'll take this one. I think-- it'll need work. Can I liaise with you for the workmen? I," and he's wry about this, "know I don't get anything like that for free. But I've got marks. This one's for good, right? Needs to be done properly." It's long enough that Tajent's moved on, poking his head first into the hearth and then around the corner of the niche, that with an appreciative if not entirely audible murmur. But he retreats when K'del has something to say, and then he's nodding, quite agreeably. "I'll certainly do that, I'll be glad to, even. It's a great opportunity to really put a mark on this place, make it your own, something generations will appreciate. Get me your list of priorities, that'll help, I'll cross-match it against who's not too busy," because presumably the busy ones also tend to be the good ones. He leaves a delicate pause before adding, "There's still not a bad trade in transport this time of Turn, too, if you and he won't mind it." Though it would mean hob-nobbing with the plebs! "There's furniture to think of, too. Something designed specifically to go with this space, perhaps?" K'del's wince at the mention of 'transport' is far from hidden, but he squares his shoulders all the same, and gives a flat kind of nod. "I'll have to see how many marks I've got," he says, just to have something to say; he doesn't sound entirely hopeful. "Always spent so much on--" He turns away again. On Iolene, is the implication, for all that he doesn't continue it. No doubt if Tajent has been involved in cleaning out the former Weyrwoman's weyr - if indeed it has been done - he might have an understanding of that. "Furniture. Hadn't even thought that far, but you're right. If it's going to be long term it needs... I'd rather not have hand-me-downs again." He casts his attention around the space, then gives a sharp nod. "I'll get back to you. Make a list." Another careful pause. "If there are gifts that didn't strictly belong to the Weyr... my understanding is that she left no direct heirs... you might be able to make a case that certain of those things be returned to you," Taj murmurs. "Or their proceeds. Something to think about." But not now! Now is for cheerfulness! Because, "Now, you have a home of your own, and you'll be able to put everything just how you like it. I'll be sure to cross-check you off the main lists just as soon as we're down, too, so no one else slips in first. Congratulations." Taj gives K'del another smile, and then walks out to the ledge, not to hint or anything. As he slips by, the thrown-back curtain lights the moon-panel, diffuse but there. There's always, almost always, a little light. It's not an idea K'del seems to have thought of, for himself - and nor is it one that seems to make him immediately comfortable. But no: not now. Not when there's-- light. It's the light that K'del stares at, his expression suddenly lost once more, but also, perhaps a little, sure. And down the tunnel he goes - towards, if you like, the light. |
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